I often think about what this world or our universe, would be like should perfection be possible. As in going through life never heeding the calls of failure to improve and learn.
If it was, then nobody would require a soulmate to fill in their other half. The feeling of heat and cold, hate and love, fear and comfort, would never be experienced. For this reason, whenever I hear someone proclaim perfection, I wonder why that isn't an insult, because if it is perfect then it has nothing left to become. The rest of its existence will be spent flat-lined.
Getting upset with a mistake is such an important feeling, despite it being unpleasant. Succeeding the first time is amazing and fuels confidence, but success reached after multiple failures is far more invigorating.
The problem people face is not knowing how much failure it is going to take in order to finally reach the goal. After a while it feels like a waste of time trying to fix whatever it is that's not working. The imperfect piece is remaining imperfect almost indefinitely. At this point, I understand why people stop trying. I've done it plenty of times, and it sucks.
"When nothing seems to help, I would go and look at a stonecutter hammering away at his rock perhaps a hundred times without as much as a crack showing in it. Yet at the hundred and first blow it would split in two. And I knew it was not that blow that did it, but all that had gone before." - Jacob A Riis
When I was a senior in high school I reached the pinnacle of my interest in literature. I could spend eight hours a day during the summer reading fantasy or fiction books. Spending so much time inside these pages taught me something I didn't realize I was learning. At the beginning of summer, I decided to try to write my own novel. Being so young, I knew it wouldn't be good, but I wanted to give it a shot anyway.
So, I began with a daily writing goal as all the experts suggested doing. I put any words on paper that came to mind, no planning or outline. It felt good in the beginning. Something resembling a coherent story was evolving. But a month into it, I got exhausted with putting so much time and thought into it, and I still had two months left. The words weren't coming as easily and they were no where near the quality I wanted. I got writer's block and found it frustratingly difficult to find a way around it. My effort became more of a burden than a possible success, as I was doing poorly too often. A month and a half into it I had one third of a novel and a desire to give up.
I consulted the internet and read the stories of tons of others who went through the same thing. After much personal argument I decided to keep going, and to actually increase my daily word count by almost double so I could finish before the end of summer. This boost removed my trepidation and writer's block, got me dreaming about my story from how much time I put into it, and even offering ideas I could work with. I nearly lost my mind into the story I was writing and managed to finish a week before school started again.
Today I am so happy I didn't give in to my failures, because now I am an English major and that novel is a strong point of pride in my life. I work very hard towards my goals, because after bypassing that first difficulty to give up, I know it's possible to do so with future problems.
Next time it seems like a better idea to give up on something, consider all the ways it can be great, should you decide to continue trying.
"Everything you want is on the other side of fear." - Jack Canfield.
